


Blowing up your school and how to deal with it: A detailed guide.

by mauvesubmarine



Category: Slaughterhouse Rulez (2018)
Genre: Clemsie Lawrence - Freeform, Donald Wallace - Freeform, Finn Cole, Hargreaves, Hargreaves is called Alexander, I live for will, Kay’s surname is Zhou, Matthew Clegg - Freeform, Multi, Seymour’s surname is de Montford, Smudger Lawrence - Freeform, There is not enough content for this fandom, Willoughby Blake - Freeform, Wootton, Wootton is called Edward, Wow, asa butterfield is an angel, give me another movie, hermione is so gorgeous, seymour is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mauvesubmarine/pseuds/mauvesubmarine
Summary: Blowing up your school and how to deal with it: A detailed guide by Willoughby Blake.Blowing up your school is the easy part if there is an entire tunnel system filled with methane, and that’s not including the bunsen burners. Dealing with blowing up your school - the one your parents pay thousands a year for you to attend - is more difficult.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaisha/gifts).



Blowing up your school is the easy part if there is an entire tunnel system filled with methane, and that’s not including the bunsen burners. Dealing with blowing up your school - the one your parents pay thousands a year for you to attend - is more difficult.

The third step in blowing up your school, after marvelling at the fact you just blew up your fucking school, is to find the nearest area of civilisation. With the case of Slaughterhouse, this is eight miles away. Luckily, the bike sheds remained intact after the explosion. Thank fuck. Wootton is the only one who can’t fluently ride a bike, the stupid bastard, though Hargreaves has assured us that no harm will come to the boy. 

We grab the bikes and head down the forest path which should head to Wonderland (that is the nearest town) (fuck knows its real name). Us Slaughterians - though I suppose we’re not anymore - don’t really know much about the outside world of rural England. Ducky, however, knows everything.  
“You’re mad, Ducky.” I say to him through breaths. My inhaler probably got blown up. “How can you cycle several miles without absolutely dying?”  
He laughs at this but I simply glare. It’s really not a joke, us not getting killed and me possibly dying from an asthma attack in the near future.  
“Unlike you, Will, I’m motivated not to die.” He replies.  
“It happened ages ago!”  
“It was four hours, mate.”  
He’s referring to the fact I almost hanged myself. I would have done it if he hadn’t have barged in, and nothing would have changed. He still could have used my snuff box to disorient the creature, and he still could have used my lighter - Seymour’s lighter - to light the methane, but I’m happy I didn’t succeed. As he said: I’ve got years ahead. 

We keep on cycling for what seems to be years but Smudger assures me has only been an hour, until we reach Wonderland, which is called Redford, according to the road sign.

“We’re here! Fucking finally.” Sighs Clemsie, clearly out of breath, but not fucking dying. Lucky sod.  
“There’s probably not even a police station here, Clems.” Kay jumps off the saddle of her bike, looking around. Donald glances over to me worriedly.  
“You alright, mate,” he says, “you look like you’re about to pass out.”  
“I’m fine.” I reply. Then I pass out.  
Luckily I wake up in a police station. Either this is the same town or they were able to find a phone, but I’m being gazed down on by seven ... no, eight posh twats. That is, if you can call Houseman a posh twat. 

“Oh. Mr Houseman, sir,” I pull myself up so I’m sitting on whatever it is I was lying on. I think it’s a row of chairs. “I didn’t realise you were alive.”  
“Well neither did I.” Mr Chips yaps in his arms. Mr Chips, whom we ran over earlier. Fuck, the fucking dog is alive as well. Slaughter to fucking immortality, I suppose.  
“Ah, he’s awake.” An unfamiliar voice says. I turn my head to see a middle aged woman approaching me. She’s a police officer - her uniform says so. She’s handing paper to everyone, getting us to write our experience I suppose. They must have heard the explosion, though 8 miles is a long way. Maybe they’ve already sent people out to the site, and they’ve confirmed it wasn’t all a dream. It can’t be a dream, I’m still in this god awful coat and Smudger is still wearing a fucking toga. He looks like a complete git but it honestly suits him. Maybe people should begin wearing togas again. They’re rather sexy.

“Willoughby!” I hear. I realise that someone has been calling my name for a while. It’s the woman again.  
“My name is DCI French and I need you to write down everything you remember, ok.” I nod affirmatively and look at the paper. I write down everything - about the fracking, and the tunnels, and the lighter. I fail to mention the fact that an orgy was occurring at a secondary school, and I feel as if everyone else also hasn’t mentioned it. 

“No. Thank you. I’ll make sure to tell him. Thank you. Goodbye, Dr Blake.” A phone hangs up. It’s Houseman’s mobile (how does he have that back?) and he’s now looking at me. I know my father was on the phone.  
“Your Aunt Katherine will pick you up, Will. Tomorrow afternoon.” He says.  
“Can you call all our parents, Houseman?” Asks Clemsie, glancing Smudger. He’s still covered in scars and ... whip marks. Those might want to be hidden before his parents find out about them. I doubt they’ll appreciate his story of being whipped, wanked off, and blowing up a school all in the same night. Madness, it is. The clock by my side says it’s 1:47am, but I’m not tired. Certainly I should be, after running around and away from a frack of an undiscovered subterranean subspecies all night, but I’m not. Instead I just want to scream. And cry. And maybe just hug someone. Until, blood soaked, skeletal, and worn, he walks through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

He has blonde hair, quite light but darker than Clegg’s, though it goes lighter in the summer months. It sometimes looks like it has highlights in, but at the moment it’s plain, dirty even. His skin is tanned but light enough to complement his hair and his eyes. Oh god his eyes. They’re a deep brown but when the light hits them they turn this brilliant hazel and the left one has a section of blue in it. I start to stand until he speaks.  
“Do you have my lighter?” Then he also passes out. 

I assume the experience is somewhat similar to my own previous fainting as he too ends up on the chairs, in his side so he doesn’t choke in case he vomits. Ducky taps me on the shoulder.  
“Seymour?” He asks. I nod, not looking away from the boy’s body. He’s covered in scars, and bruises, and blood. Bloody hell I’ve seen my fair share of blood in the past several hours but this is still startling. 

Clemsie and Smudger are talking to their parents on the phone in the corner, Hargreaves, Kay and Wootton are playing cards on a table, and of course Don and I are staring at Seymour as if he’s some alien. How is he alive? Fuck, that should have been the first question I asked. He hanged himself!

He comes to around 2am, with me leaning on the chairs beside him reading a police pamphlet I found. As he wakes up, he makes a gasp loud enough for me to be alerted. Immediately I hug him. Tightly.  
“Fucking hell, looser, please, darling,” he demands, “I’m not in the mood for dying today.”   
“How the fuck are you alive?” I ask. I have to be straightforward with Seymour since he is awfully dense.  
“What do you mean?” He replies, “I was never dead in the first place?” He phrases it like a question. Was he not? What happened?  
“Didn’t you- I thought you hanged yourself, Seymour. Everyone did.” I whine, my voice cracking.   
“I left you a letter, next to my lighter, explaining everything. Didn’t you read it?”  
“A letter?”  
“Yes.”  
“Oh like the letter you left me, Will?” Ducky pipes in. Seymour looks at me worriedly.   
“A letter, Willoughby.” Then to Donald, “Of what purpose?”  
“That’s irrelevant.” I sigh, “What did your letter say?”  
He explains to me that he ran away, after Cleggy found us in the boat yard, and left me a letter explaining everything, and where he was going.   
“Clegg must have made something up, darling.” He offers. I nod, still looking at him. Then Clemsie wanders over, followed by Smudger.  
“I assume you ran away or something and Matty made it seem like you had killed yourself?” She inquires knowingly.   
“Absolutely right, Lawrence.” Seymour replies, smiling. Oh how I missed his smile. “Gold star!” At this point the entire group has gathered, and we’re all just looking at Seymour. He grabs my hand and I pull him up onto his feet. He stumbles but I steady his shoulders.  
“They know everything.” I whisper. “Also we blew up the school.” He giggles - actually fucking giggles.   
“That really was you? Fucking hell I knew you would have had something to do with it.”  
Hargreaves proceeds to tell him everything about the school - the creatures, the headmaster being dead, Mr Chips.  
“Wootton passed the house test.” Hargreaves says triumphantly. Seymour looks at Wootton.  
“Good on you, lad.” Then back to Hargreaves. “Your ‘tutoring’ finally payed off then?”  
“Well...” He is interrupted by Houseman reappearing.

“De Montford?” The man asks, taking a better look at Seymour’s face. “Fu-Heck. You’re alive.”  
“I am sir.”  
“But how- you- what?”  
“God, do I have to explain this again. It’s very simple. I ran away, Clegg, the pillock, made it seem like I killed myself.” He turns to Donald again, taking his gaze off the still living Mr Chips. “Now, Donald, was it?” Don nods. “Tell me everything Willoughby doesn’t want me to know.” I slap his arm.  
“Please, don’t, Wallace, he shouldn’t know.” I cry out. He looks down for a few seconds then back up.   
“Alright. I won’t.”


End file.
